


Past, Present, and Future

by ds9trekkie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sam, Boys Kissing, Bruises, Consensual Underage Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Heartbreak, Idiots in Love, Impala, Impala Sex, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pegging, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Practice Kissing, Rimming, Samulet, Sex in the Impala, Smut, Stanford Era, Top Dean, Top Jess, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex, Weecest, Wet Dream, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:57:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7494729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ds9trekkie/pseuds/ds9trekkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My smutty spin on the beginning of the never-ending epic love story of Sam and Dean. These beautiful boys have two separate bodies, but share one unique soul. Codependent Winchesters are my favorite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Not the Mac and Cheese

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wayward_Daughter_16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wayward_Daughter_16/gifts).



> Warning: Underage sexual content and MASSIVE John Winchester hate throughout the story. So much angst, but it has a happy ending! Wincest is beautiful, wincest is perfect.

Sam  
Age 13

Most people dream of spontaneity and adventure, wishing for nothing more than to break free of the mundaneness that consumes their daily lives. However, they often don't understand the reality of those desires and the extent of their consequences. 

Sam does. He knows all too well how the unexpected becomes just as tiresome as the 'norm'.

He feels stuck inside this unhealthy cycle of crazy highs and depressing lows, bouncing back and forth between adrenaline and loneliness. Sam grows more and more tired of the same musty stench that fills every motel room Dad picks. He also hates the fact that rapidly changing schools is more common than staying in one. Chaos is Sam's routine, and he's becoming fed up.

Dean makes things better. A lot better. Without his brother, Sam would have probably given up a long time ago. Dean motivates him, he keeps him safe, but most of all he makes him happy. Dean is the light in his life, the one person that would never let him down. However, there's this giant and continual worry that plagues the back of Sam's mind. 

_What if something happens to Dean?_

No matter how much he tries to push the thought away, the hollow pit in his stomach never truly goes away. His body's last attempt to hold onto what's left of his already broken family.

Recently, the fear of losing Dean has grown into a silent obsession, internally stressing harder and harder every time his big brother goes out on a hunt. Often, they leave Sam behind, all alone with only his thoughts to keep him company.

It's absolutely exhausting being trapped in the whirlwind of John Winchester's boot camp for teenage hunters.

Sam's brain races over a mile a minute, trying to sort through all these heavy thoughts. Curling his lanky body around the current grubby motel pillow, he prays for sleep to come quickly tonight. The room is painted pitch black, the air thick and humid. Dad's already been sleeping for hours, but Sam can't find peace.

He knows Dean is still out, probably with some girl. Unnatural jealousy boils deep within him every time Dean mentions one of his latest conquests. Sam can't really put into words why thinking about his brother sleeping around makes him so crazy. The only concrete thought he's able to formulate is that Dean is _his_. No girl, or guy, or anyone for that matter, would ever appreciate how amazing Dean Winchester is like Sam does. 

He listens to the steady sound of his father's snoring from the other bed, trying to use it as a distraction to clear his mind. Eventually, the creaking noise of the front door opening, along with the faintest bit of moonlight signals Dean's return. 

_Dean is safe. Dean came back to him._

Sam feels so much at once, Dean's presence never fails to overwhelm him in some way. Relief, excitement, anger, hurt, confusion. He's happy Dean's back, yet upset he left in the first place. Then the guilt starts. Why shouldn't Dean go out and have a good time? Because Sam's too needy and selfish to allow Dean to enjoy the one thing that gives him any kind of stress relief in their fucked up lives?

Probably.

He hears Dean kick off his shoes, followed by the soft thuds of his clothing dropping to the floor. Dean only wears boxer briefs when he sleeps. His approach makes Sam's heart race, anxious with anticipation for nothing in particular. He's unsure whether he should pretend to be sleeping or to whisper goodnight. The bed dips down with Dean's weight and Sam decides to stay quiet, he can smell the whiskey on his brother's breath and doesn't feel like dealing with drunken Dean babbling about the evening's debauchery.

What Sam doesn't expect is for Dean to roll closer and wrap his large frame entirely around Sam's much smaller one. He's not prepared for Dean to press every inch of his chest against Sam's slender back. He tenses a little when Dean's muscular arm slides around him, tucking him further in place, while his nose buries itself in Sam's silky hair.

"Sammy, smell so good," Dean whispers, inhaling deeply, lips inches from Sam's ear. "So, so, sweet, little brother," he continues, placing the most delicate barely there kiss at the back of Sam's neck.

Sam and Dean have shared a bed since forever. They still even cuddle on rare occasion, whether it be after a particularly dangerous hunt or sometimes simply when Dad isn't around to judge them. But never like this. This is so different. 

This is sexual.

Before Sam's brain can catch up, his dick wins the race. Against all better judgement, his traitorous penis slowly thickens at Dean's sinful actions and words, his big brother quickly lighting up every nerve in his body. 

Sam has no idea why he doesn't shove Dean away, act disgusted by his inappropriate advances and try to laugh the whole thing off. Instead he's feeling more aroused than he's ever been in his entire life, and that's saying something, because lately all it takes is for the wind to blow the right way Sam's dick is interested.

"Dean?" Sam's voice cracks, while he silently prays for Dad to stay asleep.

"Mm?" Dean replies, spooning impossibly closer. Sam feels the thick bulge in Dean's underwear press firmly between his cheeks. Dean is fully hard when he rocks his hips just once, as if to ask for permission. Sam lets out a tiny uncontrollable moan and pushes his ass backwards, giving Dean the go ahead.

"So good for me, Sam," Dean coos, starting to thrust gently while tightening his arm like a vice. Dean's wet lips find a new home, sucking on the knob of Sam's spine, swirling his tongue lovingly over the bruises that form.

Sam feels like he's on all the drugs, spiraling towards disaster. He knows that if he opens his eyes he'll see the outline of his sleeping father, so he squints them shut more fiercely. Trying to regulate his breathing, Sam mashes his face into the pillow, hoping it will drown out the involuntary noises he's making. His now rock hard cock is begging to be touched, already leaking small pearly droplets as he attempts to achieve any friction he can by grinding down into the mattress.

Dean's hand slithers down the front of Sam's body, coming dangerously close to his erection. _He's gonna touch me._ Sam thinks deliriously, as he wiggles his body faster between his brother and the bed. At the last second, Dean's fingers stop their descent and slip underneath the front of Sam's shirt, crawling their way back up towards a sensitive nipple.

"Ohhh," Sam moans, much too loudly considering John is only six feet away.

"Shh, Sammy, gotta be quiet. Otherwise I'm gonna have to stop. Do you want me to stop?" Dean says seriously.

"No, please, d-don't stop," Sam begs. Unable to take it anymore, he grabs his own dick through his pajama shorts and starts palming himself roughly.

Within seconds, Dean is swatting his hand away and holding it firmly away from his straining cock.

"Do you really wanna come like that? With your own hand? Or do you want _me_ to get you there? Tell me, Sammy, do you want me to touch you?" Dean husks dirtily into his ear.

"Y-yes," Sam chokes out, voice muffled by the pillow.

"Say it, sweetheart. Tell me what you want."

"Touch me," he whimpers.

"Where?"

"My cock, Dean. Touch my cock, please," Sam gives in and finally begs, giving his brother the satisfaction he's looking for.

This whole situation is still surreal, as if all of his senses are somehow unnaturally heightened, his body responding like a live wire to the endless chanting of _Dean, Dean, Dean,_ happening inside is head.

When Dean's large calloused hand sneaks into his shorts, clasping around his bare aching length, Sam almost screams. Luckily, Dean must have known better, because he reaches his other hand around Sam's pillow and covers his mouth with just the right amount of pressure, blocking all sound from escaping. 

He's quickly becoming overstimulated, Dean's hands, his mouth, his cock, his _warmth_ all working together to drive Sam insane with pleasure he's never known.

Sam's heart is throbbing just as hard as his cock, feeling saturated with joy that Dean wants him like this. He doesn't know why or when this became what he wanted from Dean, but now that it's happening there's no way he's going to let anything get between them. 

"Only want you, Sammy. And one day I'm gonna let you make all those pretty noises, as loud as you want. Just for me," Dean pants lowly, hips pushing his clothed cock as far into Sam as it will allow.

How John doesn't wake up is a goddamn miracle, because the two of them aren't being very stealthy.

So close to the edge, he feels dizzy with bliss, wishing for nothing more than to cry out and tell Dean how good it feels, how much he wants this, how much he _loves_ him.

"Come for me. C'mon, baby, come all over my hand. Wanna feel you," Dean purrs, gyrating so quickly the bed starts squeaking. 

Sam obeys the command as soon as the words leave his brother's lips, pulsing creamy white liquid all over his--

"Sammy?"

Sam opens his eyes.

The lamp on the nightstand has been turned on, revealing the very tired yet concerned face of his father. Dean's body heat is gone, and the front of his shorts are drenched in stickiness, as well as his right hand.

_It was all a fucking dream._

Panic begins to spread like wildfire within him. What if he said something in his sleep? What if he shamelessly moaned his brother's name so loud, that's the thing that woke Dad up?

"It's okay, Sam, it happens. Go clean up," John orders him.

Without hesitation, Sam springs off the bed and scurries off to the bathroom. As he washes himself, he begins to calm down. Dad looked understanding, therefore he probably didn't hear any of Sam's fucked up desires.

As quickly as it leaves, the panic is back again, worse than the first time.

_He just had a wet dream about his brother. About Dean. What the fuck is wrong with him?_

He takes a deep breath and looks at himself in the mirror. His stomach is in knots, his thoughts jumbled beyond fixing, he feels sick. Immediately, he bends over the toilet, throwing up his macaroni and cheese dinner violently. He's shaking and sweaty, yet cold on the tile floor.

The thing that's screwing with Sam more than anything is how much he enjoyed the dream. He can't think of anything else in the world he wants more than it for it to be real. He wants Dean. This isn't some kinky fantasy, Dean is his everything, always has been, and Sam wants to take that last step toward being closer with him. Sam wants Dean to touch him like he's something precious, wants him to kiss him like he's in love with him, wants him to fuck him like he's desired above all others.

Sam jumps when the bathroom door swings open, interrupting his wallowing and exposing an extremely groggy looking Dean.

_Was Dean here the entire time? Sleeping right next to him?_

"Sammy, wazzamatter?" He asks, squatting down and placing his hand on Sam's back, rubbing it in soothing circles. His other hand moves to brush Sam's long hair out of his face.

He vomits again.

Dean stays with him, scooting closer as he reassures him with words of comfort and encouragement.

"I guess that Mac and Cheese didn't sit well. I'll try to get you something better for tomorrow night," Dean babbles, never letting go of him.

Sam doesn't know whether Dean is making things better or worse. He greedily soaks up all the affection his brother gives him, yet hates himself for knowing the reason why he needs it. If only Dean knew that the Mac and Cheese is the least of their worries.

When he sits back up, he reluctantly turns to face his brother. He must look truly pathetic, yet Dean doesn't care, he loves Sam anyway, even at his worst. 

He studies Dean's face, noticing for the first time just how beautiful he is. Sure, he always knew Dean was attractive, but he never really took the time to get lost in the raw green of his eyes, or the moist plumpness of his lips, or sun kissed glow of his skin.

_Stop._

He doesn't realize he's crying until Dean is wiping away the tears and pulling him into his lap. Sam clutches desperately to the hug, indulging in any physical closeness he can get.

"It's okay, Sammy, you'll feel better in the morning. Just a stomach ache, nothing too bad," Dean says smoothly, while skilled fingers massaging the base of his neck and scalp.

"You need more time? Or you wanna come back to bed?" He asks quietly. 

Sam knows his stomach has finished purging itself of all it's contents, leaving him feeling empty and hollow. 

"Bed," Sam chooses, crawling off and standing up.

"Alright, I gotta piss. You go ahead and I'll be right in," Dean announces.

After quickly brushing his teeth, Sam shuffles his way back to bed, miserably slinking back under the covers and facing away from Dean's side. Apparently, Dad has already fallen back asleep, the light now extinguished, shrouding the room in darkness once more. 

A few minutes later, Dean gets back into bed, shirtless and gorgeous. The two lay in complete silence, not touching in any way.

Eventually, Dean says "C'mere," in barely a whisper.

_Dean wants to cuddle._

There's so many reasons why Sam should pretend he fell asleep and ignore him. Number one, John would be somewhat suspicious to wake up and find his two boys snuggling each other at this age. He's made it very clear in the past that behavior like that isn't acceptable anymore. Number two, Sam doesn't know if he'll be able to stop a raging boner from popping up if he drapes himself all over Dean's perfect body. No, the _smart_ thing to do is stay over on his side of the bed where it's boner free.

"Sammy?" Dean tries once more.

_Sam's not feeling very smart._

He flips over and nestles himself under Dean's waiting arm, resting his head on warmth of his big brother's naked chest. Dean pulls him in closer and tangles their legs together, letting out a small sigh of contentment.

Sam's face is inches away from the amulet he gave Dean all those years ago, still slung loosely around his neck. Sam feels his heart clench at the thought of Dean never taking it off, wearing his love for Sam out in the open for anyone to see. He's so glad he didn't give it to Dad.

Although Sam hasn't nearly even begun to resolve the mess swimming around inside his head, if anything the list of things that keep him up at night has only grown in size, yet regardless he feels better in the safety of Dean's embrace. 

"Night," Dean says, kissing the top of Sam's head, lips lingering a little longer than they probably should have. 

"Night, De," Sam responds, drifting off peacefully. As long as they're together, Sam feels like he can get through anything.


	2. I Want To

Sam  
Age 14

One year. It's been one year since Sam realized he's hopelessly in love with his older brother. An entire year of pining and stolen glances, of pretending he isn't dying inside.

Of course, they continue hunting and living life on the road, which roughly translates to changing schools and eating fast food garbage. 

Another thing on Sam's mind recently is his dream of going to college. He truly enjoys school, loves reading and learning, wanting nothing more than to have a life plan. He wants to spend his days soaking up all the knowledge he can, and fill his nights with Dean and domestic simplicity. Maybe Dean would go to college with him, because no matter how much his brother puts himself down, Sam knows he's smart. Unfortunately for now, this is all an elaborate fantasy. Dad would never allow it, and Sam's at his mercy.

Honestly, the only thing that's changed much this year is Dad. He's getting worse, becoming more unrecognizable and closed off each day. The combination of his drinking problem mixed with his dangerous obsession with whatever killed Mom is making life more toxic than it already is. The worst part about Dad's behavior is how he treats Dean. Dean is the metaphorical punching bag, always taking the brunt of their father's rage and fuck ups. And like the good soldier he is, Dean never talks back or questions him, he just takes it.

So Sam doesn't have to.

Dean doesn't even think twice, he just deals with the insanity their father puts them through. It physically hurts Sam to see him so brainwashed, so broken that it doesn't even cross his mind to make a change. On the surface, Dean appears charming, funny, sexy and confident, but Sam knows better. He knows how Dean holds everything in, suppresses all his feelings and emotions, because if he didn't the dam would burst and never stop. 

However, on rare occasion Sam has seen Dean's mask slip a little, seen the pain behind his eyes, the silent plea for things he doesn't even know he needs. In another life, Sam would kiss Dean, hold him close and tell him he's the most special person in the world. He would worship him physically as well as emotionally. But he can't. Because brothers aren't supposed to do that. Therefore, they both suffer in silence and carry on.

Sam doesn't know how he's going to explain himself if Dad or Dean ever ask him about girls at school. Because he can't even bare the _thought_ of anyone else ever again. Every dream, every time he jerks off, it's all Dean. So no, he doesn't see a future where he's happy with some girl and his feelings for Dean have just magically dissipated. He's slowly coming to terms with the idea that he's going to be miserably pining for his brother for the rest of his life. 

That doesn't mean he can't try to get a small taste, right?

Sam's come up with (what he considers to be a master plan) to get Dean to kiss him. And Dean can always just say no, so Sam feels there's no reason to be guilty.

~

"Dean?"

Sam exits the bathroom wearing his nicest outfit, hair styled to perfection and smelling as fresh as the best cologne they own. Dad's gone for the week, leaving the two of them alone in the motel, which gives Sam the perfect opportunity to spring his plan into action. 

Dean is seated at the table, methodically cleaning his weapons. At the sound of his name, Dean's head pops up, eyes landing on Sam and soaking up his image. He smiles widely.

"Woah, what's got you all dolled up?" Dean asks, polishing the barrel of his shotgun.

"Uh, there's a school thing tonight," Sam lies, looking down at the ground.

"Like a dance?"

"Yeah, sorta," Sam replies, moving across the room and sitting opposite Dean.

"Got a girl to impress?" Dean smirks, moving on to fill some bullets with salt.

That one tiny question is enough to make Sam angry. But he knows has to go along with it for now, it is _his_ plan after all. Because there isn't actually a school event later, Sam has absolutely no idea what he's really going to do tonight, his master plan didn't include thinking that far ahead.

"Yeah. But, I have a problem...I think," Sam says, trying to remain cool.

"And what's that?" 

"I've- I've never kissed anyone before."

Pause. Dean drops everything he's working on and turns his full attention toward his little brother. Sam feels like he's under an interrogation lamp, Dean's gaze is heavy, making Sam feel like this may have been a very bad idea. 

_Oh well, too late now._

"And if things go well, I know she'll be expecting it. And I don't wanna be labeled as the loser that can't kiss," he babbles quickly, trying to get everything out before he runs away like a coward.

Another pause. Dean is still looking at him with that stoic, unreadable expression. It's unnerving to see him that way, Sam knows all Dean's faces. This one's new.

"Would you help me? Maybe show me?" Sam says in the smallest voice. He swears he can feel his own blood coursing wildly throughout his veins, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he makes the world's most outrageous suggestion.

"You want me to kiss you?"

"I mean, only for practice. For the girl," Sam's voice is clearly strained, the sound of his own heart beat deafening. He feels dizzy.

"Okay."

_Holy shit._

"Go sit on the couch," Dean continues.

Sam breathes out a small sigh of relief and does what he's told. Plopping down on the couch, he awkwardly awaits further instructions. How could Dean have agreed to this so easily? It's almost as if he wants this too.

Sam stops that train of thought, he won't let his imagination run away with this. There's no way Dean actually wants him. Dean's proven time and time again that he would do anything for Sam, help him in any way. Dean just simply wants his little brother's first fake date with a nonexistent girl to go well. 

Dean disappears into the bathroom, leaving Sam to wait for what feels like an eternity. Meanwhile, his mind starts reeling again, what if Dean is hiding in there trying to figure out a way to get out of this? What if he climbs through the bathroom window, trying to escape his perverted baby brother? What if Sam has permanently fucked things up?

Just before Sam's brain flings itself off a cliff, the door opens and Dean reappears. He approaches the couch slowly, sitting down directly next to Sam, leaving almost no space between them. Sam is hit with a refreshing aroma of toothpaste and soap.

_He went to clean himself up. He cleaned himself for Sam._

"You sure about this?" Dean asks, placing an arm on top of the back of the couch, leaning in further towards him.

Sam almost laughs.

"Yes."

"Alright, first thing you wanna do is remember not to go too fast. Take your time and relax," Dean starts, cupping one of Sam's cheeks inside his large palm.

"Gotta make 'em feel special," he continues, thumb rubbing in soothing circles. "Look directly into their eyes, chick's love that shit."

Sam stares back at him, hazel orbs wide with a mixture of arousal and fear. Leaning into the touch, he waits for Dean to close the gap and finally kiss him. Only now does he notice that Dean looks as terrified as Sam feels, his brother's composure starting to slip away.

Dean presses closer, lips millimeters from Sam's when he suddenly pulls back slightly, resting their foreheads together. Dean's hand snakes around the back of Sam's neck, twining his fingers through the soft hairs there. 

"What next?" Sam whimpers, sounding dazed out of his mind.

"This," Dean breathes, gently sealing his thick lips over Sam's trembling ones. 

Sam closes his eyes and melts. Dean's firm hand holds his head in place as he plants the sweetest kiss on Sam's mouth. It's so delicate, Sam's heart almost shatters. 

Dean breaks the contact by leaning back, his face wrecked, chest heaving. His previous fear gone, replaced by what looks like hunger, primal almost.

"That was-"

Dean cuts Sam off with another kiss, this one much different than the first. This one is rougher, more desperate. Sam kisses back eagerly, following his brother's lead, copying his movements.

It's not long before Sam let's a moan slip between them. He panics for a split second, thinking that he accidentally crossed a line and Dean is going to push him away, repulsed by the thought of Sam actually liking this.

_Showing his enjoyment isn't part of the plan._

But Dean feels _so_ good, his lips massaging Sam's, tender yet sure of himself. Sam has no idea how he thought he'd be able to hide his pleasure. However, Dean doesn't stop at the sound of Sam's little moans, he continues on, more passionately, more lovingly.

"Doin' so good, Sammy," Dean says, breath hot against him. 

Dean's hands slowly caress their way down Sam's torso, landing possessively on his hips, giving them a solid squeeze. Sam's body responds instinctually by crawling on top of him, straddling his brother, never allowing their kisses to stop. 

"Fuck," It comes out as a moan, giving Sam the push he needs. 

There's desire in Dean's voice, Sam's sure of it now. He wants to touch Dean everywhere, map out his skin, mesmerizing every inch of pure _Dean._ For now, Sam settles on clinging to his brother's broad shoulders, fingers eventually sliding up to nestle in the short bristles of his hair. 

"Please," Sam doesn't know what he's begging for, he's just begging.

"Open," Dean instructs, pulling Sam as flat against him as he can. "Just a little."

Those all encompassing hands roam comfortingly around Sam's back, tracing the curve of his spine and locking him in place. Sam's thin lips finally spread apart, his breath hitching when Dean's warm tongue enters his mouth. Their tongues find each other, ripping a loud gasp from him. Sam unknowingly rolls his hips, seeking friction for the erection he didn't realize he had. 

Dean is so warm, so wet, Sam needs this to never end. He's surging with a new found confidence, when he changes the balance of things, plunging his tongue forward, licking into Dean's mouth. Dean lets him in, opens up and lets Sam taste him, drink him in greedily. Sam's hips keep going, practically humping him like a wild animal.

Dean drags his lips away, only to continue trailing them down the side of Sam's jaw. He throws his head back, presenting his virgin neck, an empty canvas ready for painting. Dean's teeth graze him ever so lightly, hopefully gearing up to suck a blood red bruise into the pale white of his skin.

"Oh," Sam eyes roll back, his neck extra sensitive. 

He wants this relentless teasing to end, he wants Dean to devour him, bite him hard, mark him up.   
Dean let's out a low growl, but it sounds more like frustration than lust. His lips detach from Sam's neck, breathing heavily and burying his face in the dip of Sam's collar bone.

"I want to," he groans, barely audible.

"Dean?" Sam say uneasily. 

No response. 

It can't end yet. Sam's not ready to go back to the coldness of reality, he wants to stay wrapped up in Dean's addicting warmth just a little bit longer. He uses the last ounce of his courage to keep going. 

"Do it. Wanna feel it, please. Show me what it's like," he says, tightening his grip in Dean's hair and rocking his pelvis forward.

_Mark me up. Make me yours._

"Sammy, wait, stop."

His heart stops. 

He's about to protest again, when Dean shoves him off, but decides against it when he sees the panic lined in his expression.

"Dad's back," he announces, balling his hands into a fist, looking caught between a mixture of disappointment and anger. "I hear the car."

Sam has never truly _hated_ his father, but right now he's pretty damn close. Why is he back already? The universe must really love fucking with Sam Winchester.

"You should go take care of that," he gestures towards the obvious tightness in Sam's pants. He throws a pillow over his own groin and grabs the newspaper, pretending to read.

Sam doesn't move. He doesn't want to go to bathroom and jerk off alone. What he wants is to confess his feelings and tear Dean's clothes off. Abandon John and run away together, just the two of them. 

"Sam, please!" Dean snaps at him.

He knows Dean is right, if John sees Sam sitting next to his brother with a wicked boner, cheeks reddened, and hair all sexed up, it would surely raise suspicions.

Sam slips into the bathroom before John enters, immediately pressing his ear against the crack in the door, attempting to listen to their conversation.

"Where's Sam?" John asks.

"Bathroom," Dean replies, voice casual.

"Tell him to hurry up. I've got a new lead and we're leaving tonight." John's voice is frigid and commanding. "I'll bring these out to the car. Grab the other bags and let's go. Dean, what the fuck did I just say? Right now!" 

The way he speaks to Dean is sickening. How could he be so cruel to his own son? What does finding the thing that killed Mom even matter anymore?

Suddenly, Sam doesn't need anymore private time to collect himself. His arousal completely deflated at the sound of Dean's verbal abuse. 

Sam splashes some water on his face and combs through his mussed up hair, pissed about having to hide away the physical affects Dean has on him. 

There will be no time to talk with Dean about what just happened. Who knows the next time they would be alone together with enough time to tackle this enormous topic. However, there's no way Dean didn't enjoy that kiss, those few simple words echoing over and over in his head.

_I want to._


	3. It's Worth It

Sam  
Age 15

Bobby is expecting them in about two hours, but John is driving fast enough to get them there in one. The Impala flies well over the speed limit, tires rolling slick against the wet pavement, rain flooding the windshield, topped off with a moody looking Sam staring out the car window like some dramatic music video.

John can't wait to drop Sam off, to dump his child and run. Dad's got another lead, this one more 'promising' than the last billion. Dean will be going with him, his services as a soldier are required, nothing more. Dean doesn't look happy about it, but he would never deny their father a request such as this. This could be their big break.

_Yeah, okay._

When they arrive, Bobby scoops Sam up into a crushing hug. Sam loves it, going limp in Uncle Bobby's arms, reveling in the comfort it provides. He used to secretly wish that John would hug him like this, for no other reason than he missed him or loved him. Now, he flinches at the thought of his father coming anywhere near him, his discontent festering like a diseased wound. 

So, now when Uncle Bobby greets him, Sam enjoys it for exactly what it is. Real love from his real father. Sam thanks God, even if He's not listening, for Uncle Bobby every single night. 

Bobby hugs Dean next, Sam craving this one as much as his own. Seeing Dean given any kind of affection like this makes Sam's insides go all fuzzy, his heart probably glowing through his chest like E.T. Dean closes his eyes, holding on tightly as he accepts what Bobby gifts him, storing it greedily.

Bobby insists they come in for a quick bite before bolting off to 'revenge city', Sam knowing its more for Dean's sake than John's, his chest swelling with gratitude about the fact that Bobby is making sure Dean eats something substantial.

~

They eat in uncomfortable silence, Sam mainly just trying to hold his shit together and not weep like a baby because Dean will be gone for a couple of weeks. Maybe longer.

Dean's eyes keep darting between his father and brother, like he's nervous about something. The two boys are usually pretty good at silent communication, but right now Sam can't quite pinpoint out what's on Dean's mind. Discouraged, Sam turns his attention back down to his nearly untouched plate, aimlessly twirling the spaghetti.

"So where you boys headed?" Bobby asks, shaking more cheese over his pasta.

"Wyoming," John grunts out the word, eyes never leaving his whiskey tumbler. He's had three since arriving at Sioux Falls an hour ago. This will be number four.

_Wyoming, at least an eight hour drive. Too far to be away from Dean._

"Ah," Bobby says quietly.

John swallows the amber liquid, slamming the glass down with unnecessary force. 

"Won't be too long of a trip, especially if you take turns driving. How 'bout Dean takes the first shift?" Bobby speaks with fire behind his eyes, daring John to oppose him.

_Thank you, thank you, thank you..._

"Sure. Sounds good," John mumbles, pushing his plate away. He didn't even eat one bite. 

Sam must look extra miserable, because he feels Dean's foot lightly brush against his under the table, a discreet attempt to gain his attention. This time Sam knows the expression Dean throws his way, it's an apology. 

_Sorry for leaving you again. Sorry for not talking about that goddamn kiss. Sorry for getting stuck with this shitty hand life dealt us. Sorry for failing you._

Sam knows all the heavy baggage Dean carries with him, the soul eating guilt that never goes away. Feeling inadequate about not be _better_ for Sam. It breaks Sam's fucking heart, if only Dean knew how _good_ he is, knew how he's the only reason Sam even gets up in the morning.

Sam's knuckles are white against the fork he's squeezing, anger and sadness merging together, creating a dangerous combination. Sam knows he needs to get out of this kitchen before he says something he can't take back.

"Thank you for dinner, Uncle Bobby. It's delicious but I'm just not feeling well. Can I finish it later?" Sam asks in a monotone voice, making sure not to catch Dean's eyes.

"Sure, son. Go wash up and turn in. You've had a long day," Bobby replies kindly.

Sam takes his dish to the sink, wraps up the leftovers, while trying to block out the tension emanating from the table behind him, the only sound remaining is the clattering of Dean and Bobby's silverware.

Sam doesn't say goodbye before disappearing up the stairs, maybe they'll seek him out before leaving or maybe they won't. Sam can't care anymore. He needs to shower and sleep. He needs to shut down.

In the shower Sam's mind wanders, feeling drunk off the steamy heat and the sweet smell of fresh shampoo that hasn't been rotting in a motel. He loses himself, scrubbing his skin clean and lathering his hair three times over, he spends probably an hour in there.

He dries himself thoroughly with a fresh towel, tying it around his waist before jumping into bed without pajamas. He's stopped thinking of this as Bobby's guest bed and mentally claimed it as his own. That small thought alone more comforting than it should be.

Sam lays flat on his back, muscles tingling with total relaxation as he closes his eyes and let's sleep claim him.

~

His eyes peel open and immediately he checks the clock, it's been ten hours. He knows Dean must be gone already. There's no way John chose to spend the night. Sam wonders if Dean came in and checked on him, whispered good night while he slept, or simply left without looking back. Either way it hurts, making Sam quiver.

As expected, Sam's sporting morning wood, quickly loosing the battle to resist touching himself. The bedroom door doesn't have a lock, meaning Uncle Bobby could come in at any moment, somehow he can't find the strength to care.

His thoughts drift to Dean's lips, perfect and moist, encasing his dick. Sam spits on his hand and strokes himself lazily, replaying the same fantasy in his head like a beloved movie. It never gets old, he never gets tired of the image of Dean on his knees for him.

Sam pushes off the bath towel along with the rumpled blankets, recklessly exposing his naked body. Within minutes, his pace increases until he's panting and squirming, his climax approaching way too fast.

"De, fuck, Dean," Sam murmurs. He loves moaning Dean's name, even if it's only for himself. Saying it out loud feels good, indulging himself in something he'll never have.

"Ahh, Dean, Dean, Dean..."

Sam's quiet, but not quiet enough.

"Sammy?"

For a split second Sam thinks it's his brain pretending Dean is saying his name back, but then he realizes it's asked as more of a question, rather than a gasp of pleasure. He lets go of his throbbing cock, and scrambles to sit up, pulling the towel back over his lower body.

Dean is standing dumbfounded in the door way, jaw open in shock, yet his eyes are dark. Sparkling green irises swallowed up by lusty midnight pupils. Neither of them speak when Dean rushes to step inside, closing the door and leaning back on it. His hands are still clasped around the handle.

_There's no lock._

"I...uhh,"

"Shh, I heard you. I'm not stupid, Sam...I know. I've _known._

Sam doesn't say anything. He literally can't say anything, his voice stolen by fear itself. Dean scans the room before taking two giant steps over to the corner and dragging back with him an old wooden chair to wedge underneath the door handle. Dean moves towards the bed confidently, sitting directly in front of him, close enough for Sam to count the gorgeous army of freckles on his face.

Dean takes Sam's hand inside his own and whispers "It's okay."

The way Dean is looking at him with pure love and understanding helps Sam regain his voice. "I thought you would have left by now."

"We did. But I made Dad bring me back. Said I felt sick. He's pissed." Dean pauses to brush the hair out of Sam's eyes. "Couldn't leave you this time."

"You came back because of _me_?"

"Yes, I- shit this is so hard...Whatever this thing is, I feel it too...I want you too, Sammy."

Sam thinks this must be another dream, he never woke up this morning, his brain getting more creative with concocting new Dean related delusions. 

"Say something," Dean breathes, pressing closer. His lips are so fucking close. Sam misses the way they feel, exhausted of clinging to the fading memory of their pretend kiss over a year ago. 

I'm dreaming," Sam says, squinting his eyes and pinching his own arm with his free hand.

Dean chuckles lightly and whispers "Not a dream, baby boy." He eliminates that last sliver of space, kissing Sam chastely.

Sam gasps and pulls away, searching Dean's face for any sign of doubt or deception. When he finds nothing but truth behind his brother's warm eyes, he lunges forward, reclaiming the kiss with a slight edge of desperation. Sam forces his tongue into Dean's mouth, licking him sloppily, clutching onto his face as if he's afraid Dean might simply vanish.

"Woah, easy, sweetheart. Not goin' anywhere. Told you, not a dream," Dean reassures him through their kiss.

Time stands still as they continue tasting each other, their passion continuing to build steadily. The air between them bouncing back and forth, content to share, like they do with everything else. It's freeing to know that this kiss is fueled by true desire for one another, not a game or a trick like the last one.

"Dean, please!"

Dean lowers his attention down to Sam's neck, placing multiple open mouthed kisses along his path, but never sucking. Feeling a strong sense of deja vu, Sam whines, "I don't care if anyone sees, fucking do it, Dean."

"Gonna kill me," He growls, trailing even lower to Sam's collar bone before biting down. Hard.

Sam moans out a sinful noise, putty beneath his brother's weight. Dean pushes forward, causing Sam to lay down flat on his back, legs spread and coiling around his waist. The towel still snug between them.

Sam almost comes just from this, thinking there's nothing more of a turn on than Dean marking him, leaving pretty little bruises all over his skin.

"Fuck, yeah, Dean," Sam whimpers, bucking his hips.

Dean's hand slides sensually up Sam's thigh over the towel, landing on his erection. He lets go instantly, as if he were zapped by electricity. Sam needs to tell him it's okay. He knows that Dean needs to hear the words.

"Oh, my God, Dean. Please touch me again...want you to touch me everywhere," Sam mewls, reaching out for Dean's hand to drape it back over his cock.

"Jesus, Sam, you're huge," he says in awe, finally pulling his mouth off Sam's neck, exploring and palming the cock through the towel with his expert hands.

"Can I see you?" Dean asks, voice wrecked, still rubbing him with exquisite care.

"Yes, please...but I wanna see you too," Sam negotiates.

"Anything you want, baby boy," Dean says, leaning down to kiss his lips again.

Dean begins working on opening his jeans, smoothly undoing the zipper and button with one hand, the other being used to prop himself up. Sam gives the towel a small tug and reveals his cock, long, thick, and red, begging for attention.

Sam blushes under Dean's gaze, already addicted to the fulfilling feeling he gets when Dean looks at him like that, as if he's the most stunning thing in the world.

"Perfect...so perfect, baby..." Dean says, pulling himself free of his pants and underwear.

The size, the color, the curve, all surpassing Sam's greatest fantasies and immediately converting him into Dean Winchester's personal cock slut. Still not able to truly process what is happening, Sam can't move or think fast enough. He knows he needs to feel that cock somehow, whether it's in his hands, his mouth, or up his ass, he just knows he needs it. 

Sam is eternally grateful that Dean is in control of the situation, making the next move. He allows his eyes to flutter shut, already overstimulated, as Dean slowly smears the pre-come that was beading at the tip up and down Sam's length. Sam hisses, fingers clawing at the sheets, his back arching off the mattress.

"Go ahead, Sammy, take what you want," Dean encourages him, beginning an assault on the other side of Sam's neck, his hand pumping stronger and faster.

Sam takes hold of Dean's cock for the first time, mirroring Dean's actions, while trying to remain somewhat quiet. It doesn't take long for Dean to start fucking his hand, slick with sweat and pre-come he begins growling filth into Sam's ear.

"So fuckin' good for me, little brother. You like the way my cock feels? Gonna come for you, baby boy. All over that beautiful body you've been hidin'. Growin' up so pretty, Sammy..."

"Oh, oh...Dean..."

"Or maybe you want me to come in your ass? Take me all the way. Bet you'd love that, writhing on my dick, moaning for more...harder...faster. You want that, Sam? Want me to fuck you? Make you all mine?"

"DEAN! YES!" 

Sam loses control, head flying backwards and shouting as he comes almost painfully, spilling over Dean's hand. Sam really hopes Uncle Bobby is outside working on one of the cars. He knows Dean's not far behind, his hips losing their rhythm and his breath becoming erratic.

"Kiss me, Sam. Wanna kiss you while I come."

Using his last drop of strength, Sam positions his parted lips in front of Dean's, welcoming him in, nursing on his savage tongue.

Sam is high on adrenaline and feeling particularly vulnerable when he whispers, "Love you, De."

Dean comes as the words leave his brother's lips, traveling their way deep into his heart, burrowing a permanent home there, never to be removed.

"Sam, I- so much...I do," Dean struggles.

"I know. S'okay," Sam interrupts him, kissing his speckled nose while wrapping his lean arms around Dean's wide shoulders.

Eventually, Sam feels the tension ease out of his brother's body, breathing returning to normal as he accepts the embrace. Neither of them care that their cocks are a combined sticky mess, just finally content to be together like this. There'll be time to clean up later.

Dean rolls over to the right and lays next to him, their faces only inches apart as they unconsciously choose to share the same pillow. Dean caresses Sam's face, failing to hold back a soft smile.

"How long?" Sam asks, his body extremely drowsy, yet his mind couldn't be more interested in staying awake.

"Um, I don't really know. I guess...always..."

"What?" Sam freezes. Dean can't be suggesting what he thinks he's suggesting. "What about all the girls?"

"A distraction, means nothing. Sammy, I can't remember when I didn't feel this way about you. But I would _never_ have acted on it...never. But then you asked me to teach you how to kiss, well, I would have rather died than say no to that."

Sam sees a trace of shame and embarrassment splattered across Dean's features, something he wants to remedy.

"I'm glad you didn't turn me down."

"I'm glad you had the balls to ask."

They both exhale with a light laugh, giddy with the positive energy surging around them, pulsing like a living organism. Sam's smile begins to fade when he realizes he needs to make something very clear.

"Dean, I want this forever. I don't care about Dad or any other obstacles we'll have to face. It's worth it."

"You bet it is, sweetheart."


	4. Just Brothers

Sam  
Age 17

It's so deliciously dirty, doing this here, parked on the side of some unknown road where anybody could just drive by. His weight leaning against the Impala's hood, face pressing into her shiny black paint, all the while moaning shamelessly, as his big brother kneels behind him, tongue fucking his ass.

"Holy shit, Dean..."

He's pulling Sam's perky cheeks apart, alternating between squeezing them roughly and massaging gently. But his tongue never stops, stabbing fiercely, wet and sloppy. It maddening. Dean's a master at eating Sam out, knows exactly how to make him fall apart, how to reduce him to a begging mess within seconds.

"You're gonna come just like this, baby boy," Dean tells him, pulling free for a moment. "On just my tongue."

Sam groans and takes a deep breath, he knows Dean's not being cocky, he's come like that before.

Many times.

He braces his arms, tightening his grip on the car as he allows himself to relax fully onto his brother's wicked tongue. Dean's pace is punishing, licking him open with intent, leaving Sam not much time.

Sam's cock is crushed flat against the cool metal, dribbling pre-come into a neat little puddle. His hips are immobile, held firmly by Dean, ensuring Sam doesn't achieve any friction by rutting against the surface.

Just his tongue.

The heat in his stomach is reaching a dangerous boiling point, so close to the edge of passing out, he comes faster than he's ever come in his life. His muscles clench around Dean's slippery tongue at the same time his dick explodes, turning the neat little puddle into a drippy river. 

"Dean, oh my, ahh!"

Dean's presence disappears from the ground, only to be replaced seconds later with his chest draping over Sam's back.

"Taste so fuckin' incredible, Sammy," he husks into Sam's ear, nipping playfully at the lobe. 

Sam shakes, catching his breath, trying to concentrate on regaining the use of his body, limbs still too weak from his orgasm. After a few minutes of Dean kissing the back of his neck and running his dominating hands anywhere he can reach, Sam feels recharged, a new flame burning within him.

"My turn," Sam growls, swiveling around so he's facing Dean.

Sam's grown quite a bit since they began their physical relationship two years ago, now averaging the same height as his big brother. Just as strong too.

Their lips find each other like magnets, engaging in an open mouthed heated kiss until they can barely breathe. He shoves Dean onto the ground, kicking up a thick dust cloud from the dirt. As soon as Sam joins him down there, he's ripping at Dean's pants, exposing his cock and swallowing it down.

Dean could have probably come in his pants before, but he held out, eagerly awaiting Sam's mouth. When the whirling dust finally settles, it litters Dean's body with a powdery coat. He looks so perfect like this. All sweaty and dirty, huge arm muscles threatening to burst right out of his tight black t-shirt, face scrunched up in pleasure, he's the definition of sex, the epitome of sin.

"C'mon, De, fuck my face," Sam says, sliding his hands through the dirt and underneath Dean, cupping his ass.

And he does. Hips thrusting harshly, using his little brother's mouth all wild and desperate. Sam absolutely loves this, the ability for them to be rough and filthy, yet it's still so loving. Sam would do anything for Dean, any crazy kink or request, because he knows it's backed up by the world's most intense love two souls have ever shared. Past, present, and future, Sam and Dean are together.

Sometimes it's scary thinking about the things Sam would do for Dean, the lengths he'd travel to protect him, battling daily with the idea if _anything_ is above his brother's safety. There's a darkness inside Sam that mostly stays buried, but he knows if he's pushed too far, cornered like a caged animal trying to save his brother, he won't be able to control it. Nothing will get in his way.

Dean comes with a strangled sob, panting like he just ran a marathon and glistening with sweat. Sam drinks the whole thing down, moaning with honest enjoyment. Dean's release always tastes fantastic, continually tempting Sam into make it his entire diet. 

Sam crawls forward to lay next to him, sated with ecstasy, he takes hold of Dean's hand. They're both disgusting, way dirtier than they planned on getting, causing Sam to chuckle when he sees the amount of black under Dean's fingernails. Sam smiles at the mental image of Dean dragging them through the earth unconsciously, while coming down his throat. 

After a moment or two of post orgasm bliss, Dean finally says, "Need to get cleaned up, Dad's probably wondering why we're not back yet." He leans over to peck Sam's lips quickly before fully standing up.

Dean grabs two sets of spare clothes from the trunk, proceeding to strip off his shirt, using it to wipe the now dried come off the hood of the car. They change in comfortable silence, using water from a bottle to clean their faces, and lastly smearing on some deodorant. 

Good as new, Winchester style.

During the drive back to Dad's motel, Sam brings up a topic he can't avoid any longer.

"I wanna have sex."

Dean laughs lightly and replies with "Sammy, if we keep pullin' over every five miles-"

"No, Dean. I mean I want you to fuck me."

"Oh."

There's no talking for a while, they just let the words hang there, neither rejected nor accepted. 

Eventually, Dean pulls the car over again, but unlike before, he doesn't drag Sam out and slam him down against the hood, this time he scoots closer and takes Sam's face gently between his hands, kissing him sweetly.

"You sure?" Dean looks worried, nervous. Dean's soul looks closed off, Sam feels like he can't breathe properly without it. 

"Of course I'm sure, I've wanted you to since I'm thirteen," Sam says, searching his eyes, hunting for the problem. "What's wrong?"

"It's just that I don't want to take that from you. You're first time is supposed to be special-"

"What the fuck, Dean? 'Take that from me?' I told you, you're all that I want...forever. And you're not 'taking' shit, I want this too. More than you'll ever know."

Dean's eyes are glassy, blinking rapidly as he looks away out the window, collecting himself. When he turns back, Sam exhales a sigh of relief. Dean's soul is open to him, inviting him in like a guest of honor. He hopes Dean never cuts him off like that again, even for a second, it's too much.

"Okay, Sammy, next chance we get."

_I love you._

Dean doesn't need to say the words for Sam to hear them loud and clear.

~

It's been about a week since their conversation in the car, Sam thinking about nothing else, mentally preparing himself for what he knows is going to be the best night of his life.

_Dean's gonna fuck him. They're gonna make love for the first time._

He's in the shower, freshening himself for later, when he thinks back to all their 'first times.' The first time Dean wrapped his lips around his cock, sucking perfectly, swallowing every drop. It was in a gas station bathroom, Dad waiting for them outside in the car. The first time Dean ate him out, licking his needy hole with fervor because they didn't have much time before Bobby called them down for dinner. Or the first time Dean stuck a finger up his ass, curving it just right to rub over his prostate, making Sam scream into his mouth as he kissed him. That one was in the back seat of the Impala, behind Sam's school after Dean picked him up one afternoon. 

However, Sam's favorite 'first' so far has to be when he got to taste Dean. High on adrenaline from a hunt that almost went horribly wrong, Sam dropped to his knees and devoured him. Dad never showed up at the rendezvous point, abandoning them for something more important involving Mom's revenge quest, almost letting both his kids die that night. So Sam remembers how desperately he sucked on him, how he learned the specific flavor of the first and only cock he'll ever want, how he actually moaned louder than Dean did when he finally came. But the best part was when Dean pulled him off the floor and kissed him breathless, whispering a litany of 'I'll always protect you', 'never gonna lose you', and 'mine' into his come coated mouth.

Sam shuts the hot water off, grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist. Loosely. When he exits the bathroom, he sees Dean sitting on the bed, barefoot in his pajamas and lighting a couple candles.

Dean sucks in a small breath when he sees him, eyes roaming possessively over the length of Sam's body, half naked and still wet.

"Lose the towel," Dean orders, placing down the last candle.

Sam blushes slightly when he flicks the corner of the cloth free, allowing it to fall to the floor, exposing himself completely. They've seen each other naked plenty, but right now feels different, ceremonial in a way. Dean's eyes never leave his, as he strips off his old gray tee and black shorts, now standing there just as naked, just as exposed.

"C'mere, beautiful."

Sam goes to him, slithers into his embrace, nestling himself inside Dean's radiating warmth. They kiss until their knees give out, tumbling onto the bed, molding into one another like exact puzzle pieces. Their cocks are hard and aligned, but there's no rush, for Sam time holds no meaning when they're together like this.

Dean's phone buzzes.

"Just leave it," Sam tells him, not even attempting to hide the annoyance in his voice.

"Can't. What if it's Dad?" Dean extracts himself from Sam and goes to reach for it on the nightstand.

"Fuck, Dad! Who cares what he wants right now! _I_ want you... _I_ need you. Please, Dean, don't let him ruin this," Sam whines, propping himself up on his elbows, wearing his best bitch-face.

"Shh, it'll be quick," Dean tells him, finally answering the phone.

Sam listens intently to their very one sided conversation, John telling Dean the new plan, assigning new orders. 

It doesn't take long before Dean is murmuring, "Yes, sir," hanging up, and getting dressed.

Sam is glaring at his brother, but Dean refuses to make eye contact. He's always appreciated Dean's loyalty, one of his most admirable traits, which is probably why Sam usually has such a hard time staying mad. But at this moment, he couldn't give a flying fuck about loyalty, about orders, about the goddamn 'family business'. Dean chose their father's bullshit crusade over their plan for tonight. He chose Dad over Sam.

_Fuck this._

"Gotta get dressed, he'll be back in a half hour. Need to reach Wichita by morning. He's got a new-"

"Dean, if you say 'lead' I'm gonna punch something. Don't you see what he's doing? He's using us, he's using you! He's mentally ill, literally sick with grief that's been slowly twisted into something else. Something called abuse. We shouldn't have to take this! You shouldn't be so _okay_ with this."

"Sammy, he's our Dad. And right now he needs our help."

"You're right he _does_ need help, but not the kind we can provide."

"Hey! That's enough, give him a break!"

"NO! I'm done! Dean, let's just leave together, right now! You and me against the world. We don't need him, we never have! All he does is drag us down, in every way possible."

"We can't just abandon Dad-"

"Listen to me very carefully."

Pause. The tension in the room feels tangible, suffocating them.

"I want to be with you, I love you. But, Dean, I feel physically sick from being trapped like this. I wanna go to college, I wanna stop hunting, I wanna be free from Dad. But I don't wanna leave you. So please, I'm begging you, come with me, choose me."

"Sam, it's not that simple. We have a responsibility to him, he raised us, he looks out for us-"

Sam feels slightly guilty about interrupting his brother over and over but he simply can't stop himself, rage bubbling up inside him at an alarming rate.

"I don't know who you're talking about, but it sure as Hell isn't John Winchester. He doesn't deserve you, Dean. And the saddest part is, he doesn't even care about how hard you fight for him. You're a means to an end for him. I _hate_ him."

That's when Dean shuts down. His soul turns cold and distant, sucking out all the oxygen from Sam's lungs.

"Gotta get dressed, he'll be back in a half hour. Need to reach Wichita by morning. He's got a new lead," Dean repeats automatically, although this time Sam let's him finish the sentence.

Sam is shaking, he knows what he has to do next. Never in a million eternities did Sam think _he'd_ be the one to do this, the one to snuff out his sole source of happiness.

"Ya know what, fine. But...we're just brothers now," Sam says, trying not to cry.

"Just brothers," Dean repeats, nodding his head only once, still not making eye contact.

Sam springs from the bed, grabs his duffel bag, and disappears into the bathroom, avoiding Dean entirely. He decides to use the next half hour to devise a new life plan for himself. Alone.


	5. How Do You Feel About Pegging?

Sam  
Age 21

Sam did it, he left hunting behind and got accepted to Stanford University, finally escaping the oppression of his father. It took patience and a crap ton of planning, but in the end he got everything he wanted.

Well, almost everything.

He lost Dean. His brother wouldn't go with him, he just couldn't break free of the damn spell John has over him. Sam tries not to think about Dean much, because it only rips open the hole in his chest further, never truly healing. But, it gnaws at him, no matter how much he pushes it away, it's always there. Time can't heal this wound, it only makes it worse. Sam's still so in love with Dean, misses him even more. 

It's as if Sam can always feel Dean's presence, their connection like a physical unbreakable rope, except now it feels stretched, pulled so far apart it might snap. But it never does.

Sam remembers when he took that final step, the night he actually left for school, how nothing on the emotional spectrum could ever again come close to covering what he felt like. Of course, there was the inevitable blow out with John, his father telling him that 'if he goes he should stay gone', and the funny thing is, the words didn't even hurt, Sam was already too numb. It actually felt like relief, like he was being let off the hook, tied down to no more obligations involving his father. John continued his inebriated tantrum by calling Sam every name in the book, even taking a poorly aimed swing at his younger son, but Dean stopped him.

Although Dean was drunk as well, his instincts never waver when it comes to Sam' safety. Without thinking, he punched John in the face, knocking him out cold, their father probably too far gone to remember it in the morning anyway.

Once John was passed out on the motel floor, that's when Sam didn't feel so numb anymore. Dean was the most drunk he'd ever seen, tears leaking steadily down his face, eyes unfocused and puffed with redness. He lunged at Sam, slammed him against the wall, buried his face into the crook of his neck, and begged. Begged Sam not to go, whispered the sweetest little confessions into his ear, before kissing him desperately.

That was the first time they were even remotely intimate since their "just brothers" fight months prior. And Sam wanted it, he wanted to cling to it like a lifeline, drown inside Dean and lose himself. He wanted to skip orientation, flush away all the opportunities he fought so hard to obtain, if it meant one more night with Dean.

However, Sam knew he had to be strong, had to go for now, live the life he knew he deserved. But he would be back for Dean, there's no way would he let his brother rot, serving that asshole for the rest of his life. No, he would save Dean no matter how stubborn he was.

So, Sam kissed him back with everything he had, cried as he told him he loved him, and that he'd be back. All of this in front of John, who was still laying face first on the floor. 

As Sam walked out, he heard Dean begin to destroy the motel room, heartache mutated into violence in an instant. Sam didn't look back though, he couldn't bear to see anymore pain mangled on his brother's face, so he caught the first bus out to California, leaving half his soul behind.

~

"Sam? I made coffee, you coming?"

Jess.

She is just what Sam needs right now, a true gift after years of bad luck. They met during his first week at the university, and he attached himself to her like a lost puppy. And she was just _so_ ready to love him, accepting him with open arms and a caring heart.

They decided to move in together about a year ago, falling into a very functional routine, one that's used to support and motivate one another. Most of all, Jess keeps the darkness away, she keeps Sam busy and makes him laugh. Life is certainly better with her than without her, but part of him can't help feeling like a total piece of shit for using her. Using her love like a bandage slapped crookedly over his heart. 

He can't love her, and she doesn't deserve that.

He and Jess have a decent amount of sex, it feels good and gets the job done. But he longs for something else, he wants to be fucked. Hard. He wants to be filled up, held down by a pair of strong, controlling hands. He wants Dean.

So, for over two months now, he's slowly been trying to work up enough courage to ask Jess something terrifying, something that could send her running. And he's definitely not ready to lose her. Sam doesn't know what it is about this particular late April morning exactly, he just knows it's time to grow a pair and talk to her.

"Yeah, babe, be right there," Sam mumbles, his heart pounding as he sits up.

He finds Jess sitting at their tiny kitchen table, sipping a cup of black coffee, while reading over some of her lecture notes. She's wearing that cute little Smurfs shirt again. Damn, she _is_ adorable. He bends over to kiss one of her naturally pink cheeks, before pouring himself a cup and sitting across from her.

Jess' eyes peek up from her studies to find his, she smirks at him. Like she knows, always one step ahead of him.

"Spit it out, Sam, I'm tired of waiting," she says sassily, putting down the mug and sitting back, giving him her full attention.

"W-what?" He replies stupidly.

"Oh c'mon, sweetheart, you're an open book! You've been trying to tell me something for weeks! And I've been pretty patient, but enoughs enough."

_Sweetheart._

So, maybe there's another reason he likes her. In fact, Sam would be lying through his teeth if he claimed his heart didn't skip a beat whenever Jess' blue eyes catch the light just right, almost imitating a specific shade of green. He'd definitely be lying if he didn't acknowledge the way her smart ass, cocky personality never fails to make him tingle. He'd also be lying if he didn't notice how her and a particular someone even share the same birthday.

_Weird._

He stares at her for a few seconds, deciding once and for all that he trusts her.

"Okay, so I think I wanna try something new."

"What is it?"

"It's a bedroom thing."

"Oooh, cool! What do you have in mind?" She's smiling ear to ear, encouraging him, not judging him.

"How do you feel about pegging?" He doesn't look away from her.

_Best to just say it quickly and all at once._

"You want me...to fuck you?" Her smile fades, but she doesn't look freaked, if anything he thinks he sees her eyes darken.

"Yeah," he whispers, staying firm in his request.

After an intense momentary pause in their conversation, Jess leaps from the chair, knocking the mug of hot coffee all over her books, staining them permanently. Next thing he knows she's in his lap, kissing him with a passion they've never had before. He hears the singular sound of coffee dripping evenly onto the floor, but neither of them seem to care.

"Sam, yes, that's so fucking hot..." She breathes into his mouth, delicate hands sifting through his satin hair.

Deep down he had a feeling she'd agree, but never did he expected this much enthusiasm.

"So, I take it you're into this?" He sighs out a small laugh, lips breaking apart because they're both smiling too widely.

"Hell yeah."

~

A week and a half later, Sam finds himself seated on his knees, looking up at his gorgeous, naked girlfriend, her cock hanging heavily in front of his lips, huge and waiting. The roundness of her supple breasts, the feminine curves of her body, combined with the newest addition of her large flesh-toned cock, create one of the most obscenely arousing images Sam's ever seen. He's achingly hard the second she enters the room, obeying immediately when she orders him to suck.

He turns his focus fully to her dick, lapping at the tip, teasing her as much as himself, before swallowing down the whole length in one swift motion. It feels different that a real cock, _his_ cock, but it still feels good. He enjoys the weight in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks, making the wettest slurping noises.

"Fuck, yeah...Sam" Jess grips a chunk of his hair, pulling firmly to lift his face, angling his eyes toward her. "That's right, suck the cock that's gonna fuck you."

He whines a little, but it's not a show, he's so incredibly turned on that he already feels slightly fucked out.

Big hazel eyes plead with her silently, asking for more. She's in control, but she's not cruel, finally taking pity on him when she demands he bend over on their bed.

She leans over him, trailing slow kisses from his shoulder to his cheek, golden curls tickling him as she moves. The head of her cock brushes against his crack, the peaks of her nipples play across his back, the anticipation killing him. His elbows and knees quiver when he chokes out "Please.."

"Please, what? C'mon, Sam, be specific...what do you want?" She asks him, scratching her long nails lightly down the front of his chest, stopping right before his dick. It's throbbing painfully, bobbing for attention.

"Fuck me, please, wanna be fucked," Sam begs, wiggling his hips in frustration.

"Good, baby, so good for me. Gonna open you up, nice and wide for my big cock..."

He had no idea Jess could be like this, so dominant, her dirty talk on a direct route to his cock. In the past, she'd mostly let Sam take the lead sexually, apparently holding back all of this assertive, sexy, powerful goodness.

Jess prepares him slow and sweet, building up to using three fingers, drenched with lube, scissoring and stretching him with purpose. He's never been this open before, never needed to be. 

Sam's a panting mess when she asks if he's ready, but he's only able to produce a quick nod at this point, the ability to form words long gone.

When Jess lines herself up, that perfectly smooth cock head feeling delicious against his fluttering hole, she begins to push in.

"Shh, it's okay, Sam. Doing so good, almost there..." She reassures him, kissing the words gently onto back of his neck.

When she bottoms out, he's more than overwhelmed, so full, so stretched, so tight. She gives him a moment to adjust before sliding back almost all the way, thrusting forward and repeating the process. His muscles start to relax, entire body becoming used to the sensation. Soon, he needs more than she's giving him, slamming his hips backwards to meet her, she gets the message.

"Hold on, sweetheart," Jess says, voice so overtaken by lust he barely recognizes it.

Her dainty hands grip his hip bones with uncharacteristic strength, probably digging small bruises into the pale skin, fucking him hard. She's creating a rhythm that's almost too much, but he loves it, needs it.

And Sam hates himself. Hates himself because he knows the true reason he's asked her to do this. But Sam can't help it, can't help but pretend it's _him_. He's disgusted with himself as he transports his brain somewhere else, pictures Dean fucking into him, thinks of his beautiful big brother pounding his ass rough enough that he won't be able to walk the next day. 

She's reaming his prostate now, every other drag lighting his nerves on fire. He absolutely has to come, reaching for his neglected cock, she swats him away before he can even touch it.

"That's mine."

Jess takes hold of his cock, her hand still slick with lube, she strokes him in time with her thrusts, pumping him closer and closer to the edge.

"You can come now, Sam."

He does, he comes long and hard, arms giving out causing his face to fall forward into the pillow. Sam screams his release, thinking _Dean, Dean, Dean,_ completely lost to his fantasy. 

He winces when she pulls out, hating the loss of fullness, but he has no energy left to complain. His body is in blissful shock, but his mind left in chaos. He thought this would give him what he needed, but now all he feels is guilt. Shame begins to consume him for tricking her, literally using her like a toy.

"My God, Sam, you're amazing. We are _so_ doing this again!" She sighs, snuggling up to him.

And they do. For the next eight months, Jess fucks him like a freight train, and every time Sam comes with his brother's name always just on the tip of his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know even where this came from, but Dom!Jess for the win!


	6. Dad's on a Hunting Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I clearly have a thing for Sam and Dean leaving bruises all over each other...

Sam  
Age 22

It's as quick as turning on a light switch, Sam is back in hunting mode, his body and mind transformed into a lethal weapon. He can sense it, as soon as he enters his home, he knows something isn't right. 

_Jess._

The shower is on, steam seeping through the cracks in the door, but he doesn't even need to check to know she's not in it. A small drop of something warm and wet hits the tip of his nose, fingers instinctively wiping it away to reveal its crimson nature. 

_Blood._

When he looks up, a silent scream rips through him, temporarily unable to comprehend reality. Jess is plastered to the ceiling, stomach shredded and dripping blood. Before he can even attempt to pathetically call her name, he's engulfed in a blazing heat, scorching and burning it's way into every crevice of the room.

_Fire._

It's happening again. Whatever creature is responsible for taking his mother is back, claiming his girlfriend in the exact same way, mocking him. Sam's cursed, Jessica Moore's life cut short, meeting her fate because of Sam, he killed her.

Sam knows it's too late, he can't save her. So he runs, leaves her to die, barging through the front door and tumbling onto the grass, he cries. Without thinking, he doesn't call the fire department, he calls Dean. 

Sam listens in agony to the sound of his brother's worried voice on the other end, repeating, "Sam, you there? Sammy, what's wrong? SAM?"

He literally can't answer him, his vocal cords broken, all he can do is listen as Dean's panic grows larger.

"I'm coming," Dean grunts. 

Click, he gone.

Sam lays on his back, eyes glued to the roaring flames, watching as it takes everything he's built for himself.

_Dean's coming._

~

Sam is hit with a familiar scent, one that reminds him of home, well, the closest thing to a home he ever had. He's in the Impala and she looks more or less the same, better if anything. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he turns to face the driver seat. 

Dean. 

He's the same but different, older, more rugged, and somehow impossibly more attractive than Sam remembers. However, Dean's eyes are exactly as they were, fresh like the color of nature, and his amulet still safely in place.

Sam doesn't know what to say, there's simply too much. _Thank you, I'm sorry, I miss you, I need you, I love you..._

So they both say nothing, just quietly soaking it all in, until Dean opens his arms, inviting Sam in. And like a starving man given his first morsel, Sam desperately slots himself inside his brother's hold, inhaling deeply as his souls repairs itself. Being away from Dean for so long only makes being with him again that much more intense. 

It's still dark out, Sam can't tell where Dean parked them, but it looks secluded. Their embrace slides down into a more horizontal position, Dean traditionally choosing to be the big spoon, using muscle memory to mold into one another.

"You grew so much, Sammy."

These are the first words he says to him, and there's a sadness behind them. Like he's disappointed he missed so much time, never be able to go back and watch every stage of Sam's beauty develop.

"But you're still my baby boy," Dean whispers sweetly, smiling for the first time in years.

The tears start, Sam's face is wet and swollen as he presses back closer, letting go of his pain. Dean is like a sedative, lulling him into a state of relaxation as he comes down from the hysteria. 

He thinks about poor Jess, how's she's actually dead, sparking inside him a long lost desire for revenge. He begins to understand a sliver of what his father must have felt all those years ago back in Kansas, watching the woman he loves burn to death, along with the home they'd built together.

"Where are we?" Sam snivels, wiping his eyes.

"Not far from your school, but somewhere private, figured it'd be best to get off the grid for a while."

Dean pauses for a moment, before continuing with, "Found you passed out of the front lawn, half the building destroyed," Dean's voice cracks.

_Thought I lost you._

"How'd you get here so fast?" Sam wonders.

"Happened to be in the neighborhood."

_I'll always be there when you need me._

Sam's proud to know he still speaks fluent Dean Winchester. He twines their fingers together, placing the palm of Dean's hand over his heart.

"Where's Dad?"

"Gone."

He doesn't expect to feel his stomach drop, the thought of his father 'gone' reawakening whatever compassion and feelings he had left for the man. 

"Like...dead?" Sam asks, after a few minutes.

"Hope not, just missing for now. Went off on his own, following a lead he said was too dangerous, sent me off to take care of some textbook salt and burn," Dean explains. "Haven't heard from him since."

Sam takes in this new batch of information, thinking how much things must have changed if Dad thought something was too dangerous to bring Dean along. John never seemed to care about that before, actually using his older son as bait one time. 

"We have to find him," Sam whispers, almost not believing his own words.

"We?" There's skepticism in his brother's tone, but also something else. Hope.

"He can help us find the monster that killed Jess. It's the least I can do for her at his point," that darkness inside him welling to the surface as he talks.

"Okay, yeah, we'll find it, Sammy...I promise." Dean kisses the tip of his ear so gently Sam's not sure if he imagined it or not. "Do you need to go back there for anything?"

"Nothing there for me now, never going back."

Dean squeezes his hand, supporting his decision, donating some of his own strength to help him keep going.

"Should sleep now, we'll leave in the morning."

Sam shuts his eyes, taking Dean's advice, for once his body and mind equally as tired.

"Thank you," Sam manages to get one last thing out, sleep overtaking him quicker than if he were drugged.

"You don't ever have to say that, not to me," Dean replies, despite the fact that Sam won't hear him.

~

When the first light of dawn bathes the Impala in her sunny warmth, the two boys stir awake. Before their eyes even open, needy lips fall into a kiss, driven by mutual impulse. Morning breath be damned.

A quiet, "Sam," tumbles from Dean's lips, and it's amazing how that one word says it all. Dean wants him, now in their car, in their home, he wants to finally make love to him like they should have years ago. And Sam wants him to, despite the low level of guilt that hangs in the back of his mind.

_Jess just died yesterday, have some respect._

But when it comes to Dean, Sam's always been selfish, nothing comes before him, the choice is always easy. There's nobody here to stop them, nobody here to catch them, nobody here that knows they're brothers. 

So Sam doesn't hesitate, doesn't stop him when Dean starts pulling at his clothes, deepening their kiss from one of simple morning delirium to a promise of passion. 

"Dean," Sam replies, undoing his brother's belt, slipping it through the hoops before returning to work on the button and zipper.

When Sam shoves his hand down Dean's pants, he immediately finds and pumps the perfect cock he's missed so much, Dean tries to muffle his own needy moans, but he's so loud, already so lost.

"Sammy, fuck, slow down, it's been a really long time."

Sam listens to the words Dean chokes out, slowing his pace and to create more even strokes, kissing Dean's neck and crawling onto his lap.

"Haven't been with anyone else, baby boy. Couldn't...you ruined me."

Sam can't help it as he squeezes Dean's cock hard, jerking him quicker and more desperately, a natural response to the words being revealed to him. Dean hasn't had sex with anyone else, he truly only wants Sam, it's too much. 

Sam groans with arousal at the thought that nobody's had their whore hands on his beautiful brother, and they never will, nobody will ever touch Dean like this ever again, only Sam. Possessiveness is spreading throughout his body, seeping into his blood like a fever, Dean is his, _always_ meant to be his, now and forever.

More guilt rushes back, Sam should have been faithful, shouldn't have used Jess as a poor substitute for what he really wanted. All it did was leave his heart unfulfilled and more confused, but worst of all it got her killed. More guilt.

Sam buries it, no time for thoughts like that, because right now Dean is slipping a hand down the back of Sam's loose, open jeans, rubbing a teasing finger at his crack. 

"I wanna do it like this, Dean, wanna ride you."

"Yeah, okay baby, anything you want," Dean sounds wrecked, agreeing as he thrusts his hips into Sam's hand.

The rest of their clothes are carefully stripped away as they kiss and pant and rut against each other. Their cocks leaking generously, Dean's large hand replaces Sam's as he takes over, pressing their lengths together, mixing their juices as he pumps, slowly, gently, there's no hurry.

"Sam, you're so big, so different," Dean says, ogling Sam's new muscles. Dean stares at his baby brother's broad shoulders, thick arms, defined chest, all of it so grown up. Sam's a man now, much bigger than Dean. Sam loves when he looks at him like this, missing the attention, but most of all, he loves the addicting boost of confidence it gives him. Dean looks at him like he's perfect, like he's special.

"And you're even more beautiful, how is that possible?" Sam says back, touching his brother's rose dusted nipples, hardening them under his rough fingers.

Dean blushes, not able to handle praise like Sam can, he closes his eyes and doesn't say anything.

"Hey, don't do that. Look at me, please..."

Dean returns his eyes, begging Sam not to do what he's about to do.

"Dean, you're the most beautiful person in the entire universe. And I'm not just talking about just your looks. Sure, your lips, your skin, your hair, your body...your cock, it's all perfect, but Dean...I'm talking about _you_. I love what you are on the inside most. You're so selfless and good. You've always taken care of me, made sure I had food, made sure I was safe. Dean, you're everything to me, you need to know how _good_ you are."

Halfway through the speech, Dean releases their cocks, his eyes welling up as he tries so hard to hold it together. 

"Dean, it's okay, let go, you're allowed to feel."

The tears win, running down his face like a waterfall. Sam's kissing them away, cleaning them up with his love, "So good Dean, you're so good."

Dean wraps his arms around Sam, hugging him close, his breathing labored as he cries, listening to Sam's words and accepting them as truth.

"Dean, say something. Tell me how you feel."

"Sammy."

It's a start, so Sam lets him have a moment, hazel eyes glued to him with patience and understanding as Dean finally starts to calm down. Regaining his composure Dean finishes with, "I love you." 

Sam doesn't expect that, never expected _that._ His whole life he's known it, known that Dean loves him, loves him more fiercely than any person has ever loved another, but he accepted the fact that it would never be a verbal thing between them. And Sam was okay with it, it's always just been a part of accepting who Dean is, but now that he's actually said the words, raw with vulnerability, Sam needs them. The way the phrase sounds leaving Dean's lips, in his voice, with his pretty eyes so open and trusting, Sam almost crumbles.

Sam lunges forward, kissing Dean's mouth, the mouth that just told him he loves him. "Need you inside me, now, Dean, please,"

Dean reaches for the lube he keeps secret in the glove compartment, smearing it on his fingers and circling Sam's rim. His index finger slides in, coating Sam's walls with slick, preparing him carefully.

"Missed this," Sam pants, squeezing his muscles gently, hoarding Dean's finger inside him.

"Me too, so bad, sweetheart." Dean adds a second finger, fitting it in easily.

Sam smiles at the nickname and begins rocking, eager to take more, his body opening up for Dean like a blooming flower. "More, c'mon, I can take it," Sam instructs him, taking over where Dean left off, stroking their dicks together.

Dean grunts, slipping in a third, stretching him further, "Just a little more, baby, gotta make sure you're nice and wide for me."

"Ahh, De..." Sam whimpers, grinding down on Dean's slippery fingers.

"You want that, Sammy? Wanna sit on my cock?"

"Fuck, Dean, yes! Please, just do it!" Sam begs, his hand quivering around their throbbing cocks, losing his rhythm.

"Say it, baby."

"Wanna ride your cock," Sam whispers, kissing Dean's jaw, mouthing his way down to his neck.

"Mmm, gonna fuck you so good, Sammy," Sam can almost taste his brother's pulse, beating loudly under his tongue, he wants to bite down, wondering if Dean would let him mark him up the way Sam used to let him. Sam tests him, bites gently, kissing the spot immediately, teetering between taking and asking.

"Can I?" 

"I'm yours, Sam." He says it like it's obvious, like he's been waiting for Sam to do it.

His hand has to stop working them, Sam almost coming from just Dean's words, he grabs the base of his dick to hold himself together. Dean's fingers still fucking him fast, rough yet shallow, purposely avoiding his sweet spot, saving that for later, saving that for his cock. 

"Mine," Sam growls, finally biting down, sucking as hard as he can, ready to show the world just who Dean Winchester belongs to. He continues to litter colorful bruises along his throat and collar bone, all the while fucking himself on Dean's drenched fingers. Their cocks continue to remain untouched, throbbing obscenely with need, however, they form a silent agreement not to touch, they both won't last much longer if they do.

"Dean, I'm so ready, fuck me now," Sam sounds dangerous now, daring Dean to tease him any longer.

"Yeah, Sammy, yeah..." Dean breathes, sliding his fingers free, and repositioning his sloppily lubed up cock at Sam's already fucked out hole.

Sam whines as he feels the blunt, warm head of his brother's dick, push at his entrance. It already feels different than the many different dildos he's stuck up there, none of them felt this warm, it's natural heat arousing him impossibly further.

When the tip is completely inside, Sam pushes down, moaning as he slowly feels himself fill up, stuffed to the brim with _Dean_ , the real Dean, not pretend. 

"Holy shit, you're tight," Dean says, hands running soothingly anywhere he can reach on Sam's body. 

Once Sam is fully seated, he rises up just an inch, getting used to the drag of a real cock, he lowers himself down again whining, "I've wanted this for so long, so fucking long, Dean."

He continues to move slowly, enjoying every second of the feeling of Dean _inside_ him. Illuminated by the golden sunlight, Sam takes this moment to relearn his brother's face, his eyes sparkling with every shade green has to offer, his freckles organized with perfect chaos, his lips parted and moist with Sam's saliva. Sam can't stand it, how does someone like Dean even exist?

Sam begins taking Dean's cock faster, his eager hole swallowing it up completely, their shaky moans plus the dirtiness of slapping skin, the only sound that fills the car, their pace growing more wild, more desperate.

"Feel good, Sammy? You like my cock in your ass? Like sitting on my lap, little brother? Bet you'd ride me anywhere, fuck yourself on my cock no matter who's around. My pretty boy such a slut for my cock. All mine, only mine, my perfect Sammy."

Sam responds to Dean's words by riding him even faster, showing him just how much he likes it, how much he needs it. Sam has always envisioned their first time being sweet and gentle, Sam spread out on a clean bed with Dean above him, whispering words of affection. He never expected this, the filthy way he's bouncing up and down, moaning at Dean's dirty talk, shaking the car along with them.

He wouldn't change a thing.

"Want you to come on just my cock, can you do that, baby?" Dean's hands are welded onto Sam's hips, guiding his movements, helping him increase the already punishing pace.

"Yeah..." Sam pants.

Sam's dick actually hurts from being teased too long, he needs to come soon, trying to control himself long enough not to touch it, keen on listening to Dean's request.

"Kiss me," Dean breathes.

Sam's closes the small gap between them, burying his hands in Dean's short hair, kissing him roughly. Dean's bottom lip gets pulled into Sam's mouth, his teeth nibbling and scraping lightly before sweeping his wet tongue back into Dean's warm mouth. 

This is how Sam wants to come, while kissing him, he wants to feel the orgasm rip through his big brother, swallow up all those lovely little sounds Dean's going to try not to make. Suddenly, the pleasure intensifies, Dean's cock finally finding the exact angle that crashes against Sam's prostate. It's overwhelming, feeling this good, their bodies made specifically to fit each other. 

Sam's right hand makes its way down from Dean's hair to his chest, closing his fist around the amulet, he reaches his goal. He holds it tightly, weakly tugging on it, with his frantic movements.

"Love you, Dean."

"S-Sam, ah, love you too."

Sam moans sinfully loud, feeding the sound directly into Dean's mouth as he comes, his muscles constricting and milking the cock inside him. He feels the wet heat of his own come splatter between their chests, his aching cock finally relieved.

"De, come for me...come inside me, please..."

Just as predicted, Dean produces the tiniest little mewling whines when he finally comes, Sam waiting and ready to eat them up, loving the way Dean sounds and feels as he falls apart. When the liquid warmth of Dean's release shoots into Sam's trembling hole, he gasps, moaning as his brother's cock continues to pulse inside him. 

Sam eventually slows to a full stop, his body severely sore and exhausted as he collapses onto Dean's chest, his head resting heavily on his shoulder.

"That was awesome," Dean sighs, breathing out a small laugh.

Sam laughs with him, lifting his head up to nuzzle Dean's stubble, dropping a few more lazy kisses along his jawline, the amulet still in his grip.

"Mmm," Dean hums, enjoying the soft press of Sam's lips, tilting his head to rest on the back of the seat, revealing more of his neck. Sam sits back to admire Dean, pleased with the way he looks so relaxed and blissed out.

_So many bruises._

"Uh, Dean, you might wanna invest in some turtle necks..."

"Or maybe I could just borrow some of your makeup, Samantha."

"Shut up," Sam giggles, finally moving off his brother's lap, his soft cock naturally slipping out.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam smiles wider than ever before, their playful banter continuing as they clean one another up, redressing, and assuming their respective seats, the Impala's engine revving to life.

Freedom at their doorstep, they head out to drive hundreds of long hours on the open road. With a somewhat loose plan set in place, they go _together_ , like it always will be.

Past, present, and future, Sam and Dean are together.


End file.
